When It's Time
by jetsfanforlyfe
Summary: Kurt and Blaine are working towards growing back together when something beyond their control interrupts. Alone and desperately sick, Blaine has to rely on Kurt and his family for help.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here it is, the long-awaited meningitis fic :D This is post TBU, so canon for that, and canon for 4x14 and the shenanigans there, but other than that pretty much ignores canon. Kurt kept his job at Vogue while attending NYADA. This first bit is exposition, with parts 2 and 3 longer and action-y, and it's looking to be four parts overall. Mostly written, just being tweaked and edited before it's posted! Thank you to the lovely Katelyn for the quick beta *mwah*

* * *

"And then she takes the samples to Isabelle and tries to convince her that we should put them up in the next issue. American flag printed underwear, Blaine. She was trying to get us to run a feature on the wonders of patriotic lingerie," Kurt finishes his story with a flourish and a loud sigh, shaking his head as he waits for Blaine's reaction. The Skype connection is a bit shakier than normal, and it takes an extra minute for Blaine to hear and process his story.

"I take it Isabelle was just as unimpressed as you were?" Blaine asks with a small smile, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose from where they slipped down.

"Worse. I've never seen her kick someone out of her office so quickly. The way Annalise was carrying on for the rest of the day, you'd think Isabelle kicked her puppy."

Blaine lets out a bark of a laugh, covering his mouth as it turns quickly into a cough. Kurt frowns, narrowing his eyes as Blaine yawns and winces.

"You're wearing your glasses again," he observes when Blaine finally settles. Blaine shrugs, grinning sheepishly.

"I've had a little bit of a headache since last night, yeah. I think my contacts are making my eyes strain, and since I've been sick-"

"You went to the doctor for that respiratory infection, right?" Kurt asks, shaking his head when Blaine ducks out of camera-frame, hiding his face. "_Blaine_."

"I got better with the stuff my parents had in their medicine cabinet," Blaine mumbles into his keyboard, still avoiding Kurt's eyes. "I'm fine."

"You sounded _terrible_ last week, Blaine. I thought you were going to hack out a lung and literally die in front of my eyes."

"Well, technically, it'd be _virtually_ in front of your eyes-"

"_Blaine_."

"If I'm not back to 100% in two days," Blaine relents, picking his head up and rubbing at his eyes," I'll go to the doctor. Scout's honor."

"You're not allowed in the Boy Scouts anymore," Kurt quips lamely, and Blaine snorts, hiding a yawn behind his hands.

"Then maybe I'll try the Girl Scouts," Blaine jokes back, smiling cheekily at Kurt when he finishes yawning, stretching his arms above his head. "Listen, I know we haven't had much time lately, but I'm feeling-"

"Get some sleep," Kurt interrupts, smiling warmly at his best friend-cum-ex-boyfriend. "You're exhausted, and you won't kick this bug without rest. Need me to sing you a lullaby?"

"Need you to cuddle me to sleep," Blaine mumbles, picking up his laptop and disconnecting the power cord, heading over to his bed. He folds back his comforter and slides under, settling the laptop next to his pillow. "'Night."

"Love you," Kurt whispers, bringing two fingers to his lips and pressing them against his webcam, waiting for Blaine to do the same. They may not be "together" anymore, haven't been for months (since the night that shattered Kurt's heart), but they're still best friends, best friends with a history and a love for each other that edges the boundaries of "platonic."

"Love you," Blaine returns.

"Feel better, honey," Kurt says as Blaine exits the Skype window, snapping his laptop shut and setting it on his bedside table. He's asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, dead to the world and snoring softly.

Hundreds of miles away in Bushwick, Kurt closes his own laptop with a smile, unfolding himself from his comforter to set it gently on his desk, flicking off his lamp as he pads back to bed, sliding under the covers and snuggling down. There's a tiny, niggling worry in the back of his mind about how sick Blaine had really seemed, that Blaine, still afraid of shattering their newly built peace, isn't being entirely truthful with him, but he pushes it down, closing his eyes against the soft light from the living room, where Rachel's still awake, slaving over an essay for her History of Musical Theater class.

"He's fine," Kurt whispers to himself, shaking himself slightly. "He promised."

* * *

Blaine groans as he blinks awake, his entire body stiff and rebelling against him. There's no light streaming through his window, no indication that it's time for him to get up, get ready, so Blaine gropes on his nightstand for his phone, pressing the home button to see the time.

_3:07 AM_ blinks up at him, the light from the small screen making his eyes water, sending tendrils of pain shooting through his head. He feels worse than he did mere hours ago, worse than he's ever felt in his life. Blinking away tears, Blaine drops the phone to the bed, becoming acutely aware of just how much his body aches, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Rolling onto his side, Blaine gasps when the room seems to spin around him. He wants nothing more than to fall back to sleep, to curl up under his comforter and wait for the pain to ebb away. But his bladder has different ideas, and Blaine whimpers when he realizes he's not going to be able to stay in bed.

Bracing himself on one arm, he eases into a sitting position, keeping his eyes screwed shut to try to ward off any further pain. Getting his legs to cooperate with him is another matter entirely, his knees shaky as he tries to stand. It takes him a full ten minutes to make it to an upright position, and he almost collapses back to the bed with the effort it takes to keep his head up, to keep his neck straight. He can't remember ever feeling like this; he feels like he's burning up from the inside, despite the chill in his room, and his neck is stiff, his head in agony.

Blaine makes it to the bathroom under sheer force of willpower, using the wall to guide his movements as he's too afraid to attempt turning a light on again. He barely manages to sink onto the toilet to relieve himself, body shaking with the effort to hold himself up.

"I have a fever," Blaine mumbles aloud, more than aware that there's no one in the house to hear him, to come help him. He thinks it explains the fact that his body can't decide if he's too hot or too cold, the shivers and shakes wracking his frame. Finishing up on the toilet, Blaine stumbles back into his sweatpants, washing his hands and leaning heavily against the vanity. He opens the medicine cabinet, finding the thermometer by touch alone, still too afraid to open his eyes fully. Sinking to the cool tile floor, Blaine slips the tiny device underneath his tongue, closing his mouth and waiting for the beep.

When he finally gets the courage to look at the result, the number _103.8_ blinks up at him.

"_Shit_," Blaine hisses, reaching forward to put the thermometer back on the sink, passing a hand over his eyes. He definitely has a fever, and, as another shiver passes through him, Blaine realizes that he _definitely_ needs help. Getting back to his room and his cellphone is another Herculean feat, and when he reaches his bed Blaine wants nothing more than to collapse face-first onto it, but he forces himself to sit on the edge, grabbing his phone with shaking hands.

His parents programmed the emergency line for their family physician into his phone before they ever gave it to him, told him to call Dr. Lewis's service if he ever woke up sick with no one home to take him to the doctor. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the number, tapping the screen and holding the phone to his ear as it rings. He follows the automated prompts to reach an operator, waiting patiently for the phone to be picked up.

"You've reached Westerville Family Practice's answering service, this is Felicia, how may I help you tonight?"

Blaine coughs to clear his throat, wincing when his voice comes out scratchy.

"My name's Blaine Anderson, I'm a patient of Doctor Lewis'. I was hoping I'd be able to speak with her? I woke up pretty sick, I've got a high fever, and I'm home alone, I'm not sure what to do."

There's the sound of a few clicks on the other end, Felicia presumably typing on a keyboard, before she comes back on the line.

"Blaine? It looks like Doctor Lewis is on call tonight for the practice. Would you like me to go ahead and page her for you?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all, Blaine. Let me just get some information from you, and I'll go ahead and page Doctor Lewis. She'll be able to get back to you as soon as possible, alright?"

Blaine gives the operator his name again, relaying his phone number and as many of his symptoms as he can remember, and hangs up to wait for his doctor to call him back. He pulls his comforter around his shoulders, burrowing into its warmth while he waits. Barely three minutes later, his phone rings in his hand, and Blaine swipes across the screen to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Blaine? It's Doctor Lewis, how are you?"

"I've been better," Blaine manages, covering the mouthpiece of his phone with a hand as he coughs. "Thank you for calling me back."

"Not at all, Blaine. It's a slow night for call anyway. So, what's going on? You're running a fever?"

"I was sick last week, I think, some kind of cold or flu. I stayed in bed and got better with fluids and cold medicine, but I started getting a headache yesterday again. I thought it was my contacts, so I switched to my glasses, but it just kept getting worse. I woke up about an hour ago and I couldn't-I could barely get out of bed."

Dr. Lewis hums on the other end of the phone, prompting Blaine to continue.

"How high was your fever?"

"Um-one-oh-three, I think? Point eight. That's pretty high, right?"

"That's really high, Blaine," she says, and Blaine can hear the concern in her voice. "What about other symptoms? Do you have aches, any pain? What about chills, weakness, anything like that?"

"My head is killing me, yeah, and my whole body kinda aches. It's pretty hard to move. I can't turn the lights on either, it's too bright. And my neck is pretty stiff, I guess, but I couldn't get comfortable falling asleep, so I might have slept on it wrong."

Blaine hears her rustling on the other side of the phone, opening a door and moving around. He's confused, because he doesn't know what she's doing, and her increased worry when she speaks again sparks fear in him.

"Blaine? From what you've told me, I really think it would be wise for you to come into the emergency room. Your fever is dangerously high, and with the other symptoms you've mentioned-I think you need to get checked out, as soon as possible. You're home alone?"

"My parents are in Italy," Blaine says, quietly terrified. "I'm alone."

"Is there anyone you can call to take you to the hospital? It's important that you get there as quickly as you can, Blaine. Otherwise, I'm going to have to call you an ambulance."

"I don't-" Blaine feels tears pricking his eyes as he wracks his brain, tries to come up with someone he can call. There's no one. Except-"Wait. Yes, I can-I have someone who can come. I think."

"Okay, Blaine, that's great. Thank you. I want you to hang up and go ahead and call them, okay? If they can't take you to the ER, I want you to call nine-one-one, and ask for an ambulance to bring you to St. Ann's, okay? I'm going to head out now, and I'll meet you in the emergency room. You okay to hang up?"

"Thank you," Blaine murmurs, overwhelmed by how quickly the night has changed.

"I'll see you soon, okay, Blaine? We're gonna get you feeling better."

Blaine nods as she hangs up, wiping at his eyes as he pulls up another number in his phone book, waits for the phone to ring out. It's past four in the morning, but this is Blaine's only hope right now, so he crosses his fingers and waits.

"H'lo?" a sleepy voice on the other end of the phone answers, clearly confused at being awoken so early. "Blaine?"

"Mr. Hummel? I need-I need your help."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you again to the lovely Katelyn (rnstudenandagleek on tumblr) for the quick beta!

* * *

"Mister Hummel? I need-I need your help."

Burt is fully awake as soon as he registers Blaine's quiet, almost desperate tone, and he sits up in bed, flicking on the bedside lamp to wake himself up further.

"Blaine? What's goin' on, kid?"

"I've been sick for awhile, and I woke up with a really high fever and my parents aren't home, I called the doctor's office and she said I should probably go to the ER but I can't drive myself and I really don't want to call an ambulance and-"

"Whoa, slow down," Burt interrupts, putting a stop to Blaine's rambling. "You're home alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you need someone to take you to the hospital?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did your doc say which hospital she wants you to go to?"

"Saint Ann's, I think. She said she'd meet me there."

Burt eases out of bed, tucking his phone between his chin and shoulder as he pulls on a pair of jeans, digging a t-shirt from the top of his laundry pile. He continues talking to Blaine as he works his feet into a pair of sneakers, pulling a sweatshirt over his head.

"Alright, Blaine, you okay to hang tight for a bit until I can get to your place? Carole's on night shift at Saint Ann's, so I'm gonna give her a call to let her know we're coming in, then I'll be on my way, alright? Why don't you get your stuff together, get ready to go, and I'll meet you in twenty. You hear me, kid?"

"Yeah," Blaine whispers, clearing his throat. "Mister Hummel-"

"Don't worry about it, Blaine. You're gonna be fine. Now lemme go so I can get to you in one piece, okay?"

"Thank you," Blaine murmurs, ending the conversation and suppressing a shiver as he looks around his room. Already, the prospect of not having to face this (_whatever this is_) alone is comforting, and Blaine lets out a breath, steeling himself.

He makes a mental list of things he needs, standing up slowly to gather them around his room. He grabs a small duffel, tossing in his iPod, a copy each of _Vogue _and _Scientific American_, and a change of clothes, as well as his wallet, after he checks for his insurance cards and driver's license. The whole process takes longer than it should, Blaine keeping his eyes narrowed to a slit to keep out as much light as possible, and he's just working a sweater over his head when the doorbell rings downstairs, followed immediately by his phone blaring to life on the bed.

Wincing at the loud ringtone, Blaine fumbles to answer the phone, immeasurably relieved when the ringing stops.

"'lo?" he croaks into the phone, even though he knows that it's Burt.

"Blaine? You need me to come upstairs to get you, kid?"

Blaine wants to protest, wants to say that he's fine getting himself down the stairs, but the pain in his head crescendos, making his eyes water, and he realizes that asking for-and accepting-Burt's help is a necessity in this situation.

"_Please_."

"The door unlocked?"

"Key under the mat. My bedroom's-"

"I remember from after your surgery."

Blaine hears the front door swing open, Burt's footsteps on the stairs as he walks up to the second floor. Sighing in relief, Blaine ends the call, pulling his duffel bag onto his lap as Burt knocks gently on the doorframe, coming into the room. He flicks the light on, quickly turning it back off at Blaine's moan.

"Hey, kid. How you doing?"

Blaine shrugs, easing to his feet with a grimace. He sways dangerously, would fall back to the bed if not for Burt darting forward, grabbing onto his elbow to keep him upright.

"Easy," Burt murmurs, slipping his arm around Blaine's waist to take most of Blaine's weight, shrugging Blaine's arm over his shoulders. "Christ, Blaine. You're burning up."

"I don't feel so good."

"I'd bet you don't," Burt snorts, slinging Blaine's duffel over his free arm. "Come on. Let's get you to the hospital."

The trek out to Burt's truck is slow and tedious, Blaine tripping over his feet despite Burt taking most of his weight as they move. The chill when they reach the front porch makes Blaine shiver, and Burt unconsciously holds him closer, pulling the hood of Blaine's sweatshirt up over his curls to protect his ears. He braces Blaine against his side as he locks the front door and checks it, before setting off the last few steps to his truck.

"You want to sit up front, or lay down in the back?"

Blaine seems unable to answer, gesturing vaguely towards the backseat, and it's obvious to Burt how much the short trip downstairs has taken out of the boy. Keeping Blaine steady, Burt pops open the back door, helping Blaine slide in, reaching to the trunk to grab a flannel blanket that he tucks around Blaine's knees.

"Hang tight, kid. We'll be there in no time, alright?" He has to restrain himself from brushing a comforting hand through Blaine's curls (_he's not your kid_, his brain helpfully supplies) before shutting the door, running around to the driver's seat and getting in.

The drive to the hospital takes twenty minutes, Burt just shy of breaking the speed limit the whole way there. Blaine keeps his eyes closed the whole time, but if the worry line across his brow is any indication, he doesn't sleep.

They pull up to the emergency room and Burt quickly snags a spot near the entrance as another car pulls away, freeing the spot. Killing the engine, Burt unbuckles his seatbelt and turns around, regarding Blaine carefully.

"Alright, Blaine, we're here. You want to walk in, or you want me to grab a wheelchair?"

"Walk," Blaine mumbles, sitting up so that the blanket slides off his lap, eyes screwed shut against the bright lights shining from the hospital. He gropes blindly for the door handle, only stopping at Burt's hand on his wrist.

"It's okay to need help, Blaine. I'm not gonna think any less of you for needing some help getting inside."

"I can-"

"With your eyes closed? Even Superman couldn't swing that one, Blaine. Let me get a wheelchair."

There's a brief moment of silence where Blaine clenches and unclenches his hand beneath Burt's, before letting out a breath, nodding.

"Okay."

"Okay," Burt echoes, getting out of the car and jogging towards the emergency room and grabbing a wheelchair from the row just inside the automatic glass doors. He's back at the truck in under a minute, helping Blaine into the chair gently, resting the duffel bag in Blaine's lap. Blaine lets his head fall back against the chair, tucking his feet up on the rests so that they don't drag as Burt pushes him towards the ER.

They reach the triage desk with little incident, and Burt parks the chair just next to the desk, leaning to sign Blaine in.

"What's going on?" the triage nurse on duty asks, handing Burt a clipboard and pen, motioning for him to fill it out.

"I uh-I'm actually not too sure," Burt concedes, looking down at the clipboard and over at Blaine. "He called me about an hour ago, said he called his doctor and she told him he needed to come in-"

"Hold on," the nurse interrupts, typing quickly at the computer, biting her lip in concentration. "Blaine Anderson?"

"That's him."

"Doctor Lewis is on her way in to meet him, said to do a workup and get him into a room. You family?"

"Uh, no, but he's eighteen, and his family's out of the country. I'm Burt Hummel, and I'm what he's got."

"Alright, well, seeing that he's eighteen we shouldn't have a problem with you staying with him, as long as that's alright with him?"

Burt looks over at Blaine, who nods slightly, curling into himself against the pain. The nurse smiles, standing up to buzz them through the partition.

"My name's Allison, Blaine. Is it alright if we get you into a room, take a look at you?"

"Sure," Blaine whispers, cracking an eye open to greet her. She smiles warmly at him, taking the handles of the chair and unlocking it with her foot as she moves them towards an exam room.

"Lisa? You mind covering triage for a bit?" Allison calls to another nurse sitting at the desk working on charts, who gives her a thumbs up in response.

When they reach the exam room, Allison draws the blinds over the window to keep out as much light as possible, parking the wheelchair next to the bed.

"You need help getting up there, or you okay on your own?" she asks, going to a cabinet and taking down a gown and a few other supplies, setting them on the bedside tray and rolling it over to the bed.

"I've got him," Burt offers, taking Blaine's elbow to help him into bed, adjusting the pillow so that Blaine can rest against it. He takes the duffel from Blaine and sets it on the chair by the door, returning to stand next to the bed.

"It looks like you're suffering some photophobia, Blaine, is that right? The lights are making your eyes sensitive?"

"Making my head hurt," Blaine affirms, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he speaks. Allison hums, flicking a switch to dim the lights as much as possible, allowing Blaine to open his eyes again.

"That better?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, Blaine, so here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to draw the curtain for you so you can go ahead and get into this gown, then I'll take some vitals and get some information from you and hopefully Doctor Lewis will be here by then to see what we'll do next, sound good?"

Blaine makes a tiny noise of assent in his throat, accepting the offered gown and unfolding it as Allison steps away, drawing the curtain around the bed. Blaine looks at the gown in his hands and then at his sweatshirt, frowning slightly.

"You need help?" Burt asks gently, waiting for Blaine's nod to move. He quickly and quietly helps Blaine out of his sweatshirt and t-shirt, slipping the pale green gown over Blaine's shoulders. He lets Blaine wriggle out of his sweatpants by himself, taking the clothes and folding them carefully, setting them next to Blaine's duffel.

"Ready?" Allison peeks around the curtain, drawing it back all the way at Blaine's nod. "Great. We'll start easy, let's just get your pulse and blood pressure, then I'll listen to your breathing, alright?"

Allison works quickly and efficiently, inflating an automatic blood pressure cuff on Blaine's right arm, jotting down the result and reaching to take his pulse. She pulls her stethoscope from her pocket, breathing on the bowl to warm it before setting it to Blaine's chest, instructing him to breathe deeply as she listens.

Replacing her stethoscope, she takes the thermometer from its holder by the wall, sliding it against Blaine's forehead and frowning when it beeps its reading.

"So, Blaine, it looks like you've got a pretty high fever. Do you know about how long that's been?"

"Woke up at three like that," Blaine offers, turning his head to look at her. "I was sick last week, thought I got over it. Guess not."

"Sometimes our bodies are our worst enemies," Allison agrees, scribbling a few notes in Blaine's chart. "What else is bothering you?"

"My head is pretty bad," Blaine says, biting his lip at a particularly painful throb. "My neck hurts a little, too, but mostly my head."

Allison looks up when he mentions his neck pain, jotting that down and tapping her pen against the clipboard.

"So neck pain, headache, fever, sensitivity to light," she repeats, scanning over the list of Blaine's symptoms. "That cover it?"

"Sounds like it," Blaine confirms, closing his eyes with a yawn. "I'm kinda tired, would it be okay-"

"Why don't you try to get a couple minutes of sleep in, Blaine. I'm going to talk to Mister Hummel just outside for a little bit, and then I'm going to give Doctor Lewis a call, okay? We're gonna get you feeling better in no time."

Blaine nods, already half asleep as Allison stands to draw the curtain around the bed again, motioning for Burt to follow her outside. She sets Blaine's chart in the holder outside the room, closing the door quietly and turning to face Burt.

"What's wrong with him?" Burt asks, apprehensive at the worry obvious on Allison's face. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Well, I can't say for sure until we can run some tests, but judging by Blaine's symptoms and the fever-I think we might be looking at something like meningitis here. The neck pain is worrying, and so is the severe headache-I'd like to wait for Doctor Lewis to take a look at him before we make any decisions, but it's really good that you brought him in when you did."

"Can you give him anything for the pain? The kid's miserable. He's not gonna say it, but-"

"Let me see if I can get an order for some Tylenol to try to bring down his fever and take some of the edge off. I'm going to have Doctor Plaga, the resident on call tonight, come take a look at him as well. Blaine's in good hands, Mister Hummel."

Burt nods, looking back into the room through the window on the door, sighing heavily.

"You should sit with him until we can run those tests. He's got a long night ahead of him, at least, so let's let him rest while he can. I'll be back in shortly, alright?"

"Thank you." Burt waits for Allison to walk towards the nurse's station before opening the door, heading back to Blaine's side. He takes the chair next to the bed, pulling off his cap to rub a hand over his head as he settles, watching Blaine's sleeping form.

"You're gonna be okay, kid. I promise," he whispers, settling in to wait. "Everything's gonna be fine."


End file.
